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My excessive energy, extreme narcissism, and intense love of neon-colored spandex is both managed and fueled by my addiction to fitness. I push myself to extremes and I push other people's buttons. Obviously I needed my own blog.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Shit Happens aka My Morning in the ER

I spend a lot of time being told that CrossFit is dangerous. That's different than when someone interested in CrossFit asks me if it's dangerous. I'm talking about when random guys on Tinder, some guy my sister dated, the bartender at bartaco, and some drunk dude at Tin Roof Cantina all decide that it is their duty to inform me that CrossFit is going to kill me. Is there some inherent risk involved? Sure. Will it kill you? Well, how stupid and how stubborn are you?

I'm pretty stubborn. That's how I ended up running 22 miles of a 34 miles trail race with a locked out leg. I was in tears. It took me over 8 hours. I didn't care because I was not getting a Did Not Finish next to my name. I was willing to die on that course.

Yesterday I hurt my back. Again. There was August 2014. And April 2015. And July 2016. I have tight hamstrings. I spend too much time sitting. I don't work on mobility. I hate going to yoga. I grind my teeth, slouch my shoulders, and look between two monitors all day on an angle. And I sleep like a fucking zombie on the airplane. I'm in no way surprised that my back always hurts, but I'm a little pissed off at myself for letting it happen again. I'm okay with being stubborn, but now I'm worried that my lack of action is just stupid.

So yesterday's workout was some strict presses. I don't like overhead movements and I really don't like strict ones. They were hard. I probably shouldn't have done the last 2 reps. I felt something weird in my back as I wrestled that last one up. The metcon was a AMRAP 15 of 10 lunge steps (I used 75#), 15 TTB (I subbed GHD sit-ups), and 30 doubleunders (which are my fucking jam.) I was doing awesome. I can easily clean 75# and get it onto my back. I was more concerned about fucking up my knee because I felt something move when we did walking lunges recently. I think I'm pretty decent at GHDs. I am explosive. I use my quads. I don't think I hyper-extend my back. Doubleunders are no problem. I was on my 5th round of lunges and I felt this spasm throughout my lower back and I screamed. And by screamed, I mean I howled the pain of an animal whose foot has been caught in a bear trap. I bailed out from under the bar, fell to the floor, and lay in child's pose. If you take anything away from reading my blog, may it be these two things 1. Always leave your shoes near the door so you can sneak out while he is sleeping without having to make noise to find your shoes and 2. Learn to properly bail out of a lift so you don't end up pinned underneath the barbell.

Coach Blaine comes over to make sure that I'm not dead. I decided to be less stubborn and did not continue the workout even though I was on track to have an awesome score and instead was stuck with a 4+9 scaled score. I came home, put an Icy Hot patch on, and went about my day. I took an Epsom salt bath and iced before bedtime.

I posted this photo on IG last night with the caption #helpivefallenandicantgetup. When life imitates art...

And then this morning comes around. I woke up around 4 AM when my NyQuil wore off and had an uneventful trip to the bathroom. I then got out of bed again around 7 to walk the dogs. I made it to the front door and tried to lean down to leash them up and my back started to spasm. I screamed and slid to the floor. I couldn't move. Pain shot up my back every time I tried to move my legs. I dragged my body across the floor until I reached my recliner and I hoisted myself up to get to my bedroom to grab my phone. I rested and decided to attempt getting the dogs out one more time. Remember I'm stubborn.

I collapsed screaming. I couldn't move. I was just lying there in my dachshund jammies, LL Bean slippers, and winter coat in front of my door with an actual dachshund jumping on my head. Daisy Mae hurt her back and Mommy got her top of the line medical care. Mommy hurt her back and Daisy Mae bit her. I called my neighbor and he had already left for work. I then swallowed my pride and called my ex-boyfriend and begged him to come over. And that's how he found me - lying in front of the door, crying, unable to move.

This picture is from last night but Daisy Mae's aggressive loving looked very similar this morning.

He's the hero of today's story. He picked me up, took Daisy Mae and Frank each out to potty, fed them, and got them settled while the paramedics arrived to take me to the hospital. It was so pitiful. I couldn't even get down onto the gurney without screaming so they had to pick me up and place me onto it. I declined a trip to Grady since I wasn't suffering from a gunshot wound and went to Atlanta Medical Center instead.

Gurney selfie!
Last night I was chatting with the Pilot and I complained that my bed didn't have handles and he told me that's called a hospital bed. Problem solved!
I entertained my nurses Tom and Kelly, as well as Dorothy from billing. The Chaplain came by and I was suddenly worried that I might be dying but he just asked if I had any prayers and if I wanted something to read. I chose the Bible. That Tom was a real hoot. When I told him that I got hurt from some simple lunges, he asked if I was sure it wasn't from crazy spider monkey sex. I assured him that the only person with whom I'd be having that kind of sex is currently out of the country, and that sadly there was no glory in my injury. Finally they released me with a sweet stack of prescriptions and I took an Uber home.

I figured the good stuff would be stashed in the cabinet with the combination lock but they weren't even locked. Just silly thermometers.

So moral of the story is: CrossFit is as dangerous as anything else in life. Sitting on your couch is probably more dangerous for your long-term health. I should finally accept that I need to start doing yoga. And no one questions your need for narcotics if you show up to the ER screaming in dachshund pajamas.

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